prologue

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o. john hughes

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OLIVIA CLARKE sat in the second to last row of Mr. Bishop's fourth-period chemistry class, a strand of her long brown hair coiled around her index finger. Her expression was one of utter boredom as the man continued his excruciatingly long lecture on molarity. She knew much of her science curriculum already as her father, Scott Clarke, a middle school science teacher, had been tutoring her for years. Their shared love of science, especially biology, had fueled their close relationship for Olivia's whole life.

   Olivia lived in the tiny town of Hawkins, Indiana. Her social circle was small, consisting mostly of her father and four prepubescent boys she tutored. Her life was quite uneventful and drab, but she liked it that way; she seemed to prefer observing the lives of others instead of finding her own adventure. It was easier, safer, and definitely cost less.

As she sat there, a sigh on the tip of her tongue, she couldn't help but allow her eyes to wander toward a boy only one row away from her. She stared at the back of his head, his fluffy brown locks cascading down to his shoulders. He looked so effortlessly carefree and perfect sitting there in an uncomfortable metal chair. It was like he was a life-sized Ken doll that had accidentally been misplaced in a stuffy classroom that smelled of B.O. and cigarette smoke.

   Olivia had been crushing on Steve Harrington, the owner of the perfect hair and stance, for almost a year now. Most of her thoughts throughout the day had been consumed by the boy and his mane. She supposed she wasn't the only girl slightly obsessed with the Harrington boy; he was the most popular kid at Hawkins High, the epitome of cliché and charming.

   She had quickly realized though that her liking of the boy was a case of extreme infatuation rather than love. She didn't know what the boy was like behind closed doors, and truth be told, she was scared to find out. So, she watched from afar, too terrified to realize the boy wasn't as perfect as she had made him out to be.

   Turning her gaze towards the door, her eyebrows quirked in confusion. Staring at Olivia through the door's narrow window was one of her best friends, Vincent Walterson, pulling at the insides of his cheeks and sticking out his tongue. The girl suppressed a small giggle that was rising in her throat and instead gave the boy a look of warning and concern. Peering around the classroom, she'd noticed none of the other teens had seen the goofy boy standing at the door yet.

   "And you must remember," Mr. Bishop spoke, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, "Molarity is equal to the number of moles over one liter of solution."

   Almost on cue, the bell rang throughout the school, causing teen boys and girls to jump from their seats and fly out of their classrooms. Olivia slung a strap of her tan backpack over her shoulder and clutched her trapper keeper to her chest as she slipped through the door.

✓ | Infatuation . . . Steve Harrington¹Where stories live. Discover now